100%: the Story of a Patriot eBook

So the day began to break and the birds to sing.
The sun rose on Peter’s face gray with exhaustion
and the Irish apples in Nell’s cheeks badly
faded. But the time for action had come, and Peter
went off to watch McCormick’s home until seven
o’clock, when the special delivery letter was
due to arrive.

It came on time, and Peter saw McCormick come out
of the house and set forth in the direction of the
studios. It was too early for the meeting, so
Peter figured that he would stop to get his breakfast;
and sure enough “Mac” turned into, a little
dairy lunch, and Peter hastened to the nearest telephone
and called his boss.

“Mr. McGivney,” he said, “I lost
those fellows last night, but now I got them again.
They decided not to do anything till today. They’re
having a meeting this morning and we’ve a chance
to nab them all.”

“Where?” demanded McGivney.

“Room seventeen in the studios; but don’t
let any of your men go near there, till I make sure
the right fellows are in.”

“Listen here, Peter Gudge!” cried McGivney.
“Is this straight goods?”

“My God!” cried Peter. “What
do you take me for? I tell you they’ve
got loads of dynamite.”

“What have they done with it?”

“They’ve got some in their headquarters.
About the rest I dunno. They carried it off and
I lost them last night. But then I found a note
in my pocket—­they were inviting me to come
in.”

“By God!” exclaimed the rat-faced man.

“We’ve got the whole thing, I tell you!
Have you got your men ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, have them come to the corner of
Seventh and Washington Streets, and you come to Eighth
and Washington. Meet me there just as quick as
you can.”

“I get you,” was the answer, and Peter
hung up, and rushed off to the appointed rendezvous.
He was so nervous that he had to sit on the steps
of a building. As time passed and McGivney didn’t
appear, wild imaginings began to torment him.
Maybe McGivney hadn’t understood him correctly!
Or maybe his automobile might break down! Or
his telephone might have got out of order at precisely
the critical moment! He and his men would arrive
too late, they would find the trap sprung, and the
prey escaped.

Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes.
At last an automobile rushed up the street, and McGivney
stepped out, and the automobile sped on. Peter
got McGivney’s eye, and then stepped back into
the shelter of a doorway. McGivney followed.
“Have you got them?” he cried.